


Just,, fluff

by Slugem



Category: Clone High
Genre: A lot of the Van Gogh stuff has my personal headcanons but yk, Crying, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gandhi is pining but doesn't really realize it for a bit, Hurt/Comfort, Joan and Abe are mentioned but only once so I'm not tagging them, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, kind of, kinda OOC, sorry for that I'm not great at writing most characters, they are kind of a comfort ship for me rn, this is bad jcjdjxndnxk, very self indugent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slugem/pseuds/Slugem
Summary: Van Gogh has a lot on his mind and he's upset about it, so he calls the first person on his mind.
Relationships: Gandhi/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	Just,, fluff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [X_L3M0N_X](https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_L3M0N_X/gifts).



> Hhh this is the first fic I've published in a long time. This is pretty rough right now and I'm tired while writing it so please bare with me on this one lol. I'll most likely edit to fix/change things in the future but for now please enjoy <3

Was this a normal thing that friends did? It was just comfort, that was all. They weren't the closest friends, but Gandhi was usually the first person he thought of. It started as just a pat on the back to calm the other down, then it all moved from there. The last time something like this happened he was being held, not completely, but more like a hug. He became like a shoulder to cry on (literally). But everytime he left, something always felt- off. Like something was missing, like he had something else he wanted to say but not the words to say it. It had been months since the whole teen crisis hotline incident, and they became fairly close. Mostly because they found that they had a few mutual friends and they ended up sitting together at lunch quite often. It started out with a few conversations, one giving their input on something the other would say or answering the other's question. Yet there was one night, he was the only person he could find that would pick up the phone. So he came over to try to help. 

This was just one of those nights when Van Gogh wasn't feeling so well (mentally) and he called Gandhi over just to talk for a while. This was perhaps the 3rd or 4th time he'd come over for a situation like this, but he'd been at his house more than that. He already knew the usual way in, and Van Gogh left the window unlocked as always. He was already crying by the time he got inside, he only looked at him quite longingly and didn't say a word. He sat down next to him on the bed for a moment before he pulled Van Gogh in, leaving his cheek pressed against his chest. He waited a moment to make sure this was actually wanted, but there were no complaints about it. "Did something happen?" He asked softly. "I was just lonely, and scared and- you were the first person I was thinking of." It was surprisingly straightforward, this had happened this way once before. "What do you mean scared? Scared of what?" He questioned, leaning back a bit to be able to face Van Gogh. "I've been thinking about something- a lot lately and I don't know how to feel about it.." he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and then looking upwards at the other. "Well- do you think having feelings for another clone is wrong? Morally wrong, I mean." It took everything in him not to laugh at the question. The thought had hardly even crossed his mind before this, he couldn't really take this seriously. "No I dont think it's wrong! Look at Joan, she's so obvious about her feelings for Abe. I don't think she's ever thought about that before. Hell, I haven't either." Van Gogh glanced away. "What makes you ask that all of a sudden? Do you have a crush on someone?" His tone had completely changed from the beginning of the conversation, now practically teasing the other boy. "What does that matter to you?" He looked nearly upset by Gandhi's question, but not upset like earlier. Like he was almost getting mad. Was he seriously getting mad over this? "Because we're friends! I wanna know which girl you're after" It was silent for a good 5 seconds. Neither of them knew what else to say after that. "It just- doesn't feel right. Even if I did have feelings for them they wouldn't return them." He leaned back into Gandhi again. "Maybe I shouldn't have gotten so personal with them in the first place." He took a breath and slowly brought his hand up to Van Gogh's head, and began slowly combing his fingers through his hair. He was careful about it- careful not to ruin the way his bandages were wrapped and to not startle him with the motion. He hadn't been crying for a while now, but his breathing was still jittery. He was almost sure he shouldn't feel this way, he didn't even know if this was morally right. But he was so warm, and it felt so nice to be held like this. It took a while, but he eventually calmed enough to where his breathing went nearly back to normal and Gandhi stopped running his fingers in his hair.

"You should just tell them how you feel. What've you got to lose with that?" He cleared his throat "let's see.. my dignity, for starters" "You can't live like that forever, man. Sometimes you just have to tell them, or they'll just move on to being with someone else." He was right. As much a Van Gogh didn't want to admit it, he was right this time. How stupid of him to have feelings for someone like him anyways? After everything that had happened? He moved to laying back on Van Gogh's bed, ultimately taking Van Gogh down with him since he had been leaning back onto Gandhi. Their previous position had nearly stayed the same besides them laying back. He looked up, wide eyed. There was something that had been mentally noted in the past by Gandhi; he has beautiful eyes, especially beautiful when he's not crying. He had always thought that, honestly, but here he had the chance to look into his eyes closer than he had been able to in the past. It was quiet for just a little while, neither of them felt like speaking up, they only stared at each other. They feel so close that they could feel each other's breathing, only a few inches. Van Gogh went red at that thought. Gandhi took a moment to really take in the other's features, he was always so uptight. Maybe being the way he is balanced them out somewhat. 

His glasses. His glasses stuck out so far from his face that Van Gogh was almost sure it would hit him if he so much as tried it with them on, so he slowly reached out and held his glasses up, and kissed him. It was so quick that the other was absolutely dumbfounded, barely having time to even process it. The other had already buried his head in Gandhi's shirt. "Do you wanna repeat that for me? I didn't quite catch it the first time" He said, laughing.


End file.
